


Rewind

by a_solitary_marshmallow



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28730184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_solitary_marshmallow/pseuds/a_solitary_marshmallow
Summary: In Ppleater's '1 Step Forward, 20 Steps Back', when Stan is de-aged he retains his adult memories. What if this wasn't the case...?(my take on Smol Stan)
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 131
Kudos: 155





	1. Oops

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871936) by [Ppleater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ppleater/pseuds/Ppleater). 



> Hi! So, 1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back is by far one of my favourite Gravity Falls fics. I got inspired a while ago to write my own take on this concept!
> 
> (The storyline is different to Ppleater's version, I'm not trying to copy it)

“I’m giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and you won’t even listen!”

The yell echoed through the huge, barren underground lab, bouncing off the frame of an interdimensional portal and smacking its unsuspecting recipient right in the face. Stan fumed, indignation pouring through his blood like wildfire and setting his teeth on edge. What right did Stanford have to decide that? He had no _idea_ what Stan had been doing over the last decade! Stan had kept himself _alive_. Was that not worthwhile?

Maybe not. Ford had just called and Stan had come running, dropping his current moneymaking scheme to get there as fast as possible. Stan had driven across the country at the drop of a _hat_ to help his twin.

And now he was in Ford’s stupid basement, holding Ford’s stupid book, having his hopes and dreams once again crushed. He should have known better than to _hope_. Stanley Pines wasn’t allowed to hope. He wasn’t allowed to be safe or have comfort or a home. Stanley Pines was the worthless twin and, apparently, Ford had finally accepted that.

“Well, listen to this!” Stan fumbled in his coat for the lighter that he knew was there; Ford glared at him, not listening, but oh he _would_ listen. Stan would _make_ him. “You want me to get rid of this book? Fine, I’ll get rid of it right now!”

Stan could see the moment Ford noticed the lighter – the moment his brother’s expression turned from fury to abject horror, his bloodshot eyes widening, lunging forward even before a yell tore from his throat.

“ _No_!” He wrenched the journal from Stan’s hands, clutching it protectively to his chest. Stan was about to grab it back but Ford’s next words stopped him dead. “You don’t _understand_!”

And – yeah, that tracked. Stanley Pines, resident ignoramus, not understanding something. Story of his life. Ford was curled around his _stupid book_ that he’d wanted to get rid of just a few seconds ago, glaring. The book that apparently was worth more to him than his own brother. And Stan – was the idiot who didn’t understand. Oh yes, the status quo had reasserted itself alright.

Why did he think anything different would happen?

“I don’t – understand.” A laugh bubbled up from Stan’s chest. It felt bitter and humourless, more like a sob than anything. “I don’t _understand_. Wouldn’t be the first time, huh?”

Ford stared at him like he’d lost his head. Stan laughed again and dragged a hand down his face, suddenly feeling very, very tired.

“That’s – yeah. Okay.” He dropped his lighter back into his pocket. It wasn’t funny but Stan couldn’t hold back a dry chuckle, turning his head to hide the tears that were forming in his eyes. “Fine. Have fun with your – your dumb mysteries.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed for the door.

“Stan!” Ford called after him. A tiny bubble of hope rose up in his chest and he stomped it out as he took the stairs. What was the fucking _point_?

Stanford’s house was still a wreck up here. Ford didn’t seem to care as he rushed after him.

“ _Stan_!”

Stan took a deep breath and turned to face his panting brother. “ _What_? I’m doing what you wanted. I’m leaving.”

“You’re supposed to take the journal!” Ford made an aborted gesture as if to shove the book at him but hesitated, evidently warring between the need to give Stan his journal and worry that he would destroy it. Stan choked on another bitter laugh.

“Why the _hell_ should I take your stupid book? I don’t understand, remember? I’m just the dumb muscle with no brains and no sense, right?” He stabbed a finger at his staring brother. “Well, I’m finally wising up. I don’t have to do shit for you, Stanford. I don’t owe you _anything_!”

Stan flung his arms out wide, which in hindsight wasn’t a good move, because his hand knocked into a jar on the kitchen bench… which in turn smashed into several other nearby beakers. He yelped and tried to catch them, only to end up with clear liquid splashed across his hands. The glass containers smashed on the floorboards.

“ _Shit_.”

“My experiments!” Ford shrilled. “Is trying to destroy my science project not enough for you? You have to sabotage my experiments as well?!”

“That was an accident!” Stan shouted back.

“ _Everything’s_ an accident with you. Why don’t you just own up to the fact that you don’t want me to succeed? If you’re not going to help me then you can just-!”

That was only the beginning of Ford’s rant, but… Stan couldn’t really hear it anymore. The blood rushing in his ears was way too loud. And why was his vision swimming? And getting dark…?

Well, at least he didn’t have to listen to Ford yelling anymore. That was his last coherent thought before buzzing overtook him.


	2. Ba-by Stan do do do do do do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are a little bigger than the ones I've done in other works, so they might be posted further apart this time.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

Stan’s head was full of cotton. He mumbled and buried his face into his pillow, wishing he could block out the world. Had he been hit in the head during gym class? He couldn’t remember, but that might explain the fuzziness in his brain and why his arms felt all weak and noodly.

Someone was talking to him, probably Ford, trying to get him up for school. Ew, school. Did he have a test today? Stan could have sworn there was one coming up but he never really paid attention to _when_. Not like studying would change his score much anyway. He had to squint to read the questions and it took him way longer than everyone else to answer anything at all. Pa said it was because he was stupid.

He didn’t _want_ to go to school today. His head was all stuffy and he was tired. Was he sick? If he was sick maybe Pa would let him stay home. It was Ford’s schooling he cared about anyway.

But no, that would leave Ford alone all day! He couldn’t leave his brother with that stupid Crampelter. Ford tried to hide how the other kids picked on him when Stan wasn’t there, but Stan wasn’t a _total_ idiot. He knew it got worse when he wasn’t by his brother’s side, fists clenched and rearing for a fight. They would take advantage of his absence to mess with his brother.

No, he’d have to go to school, for Sixer. Filled with indignation on the part of his brother Stan lifted his face from his pillow-

And froze.

He wasn’t in his room, on the bottom bunk while Ford leaned over from the top bunk to talk to him. He wasn’t in his room at all.

The bed he was on was big and messy with slightly grubby sheets. It sat in a weird room that looked like it was part of a log cabin, rife with random objects that sat on boxes or desks or were pinned to a corkboard on the wall. And there was someone standing over him.

Stan yelped and threw himself away from the reaching hand, only to topple off the bed and let out a pained cry when his elbows scraped the wooden floor. The person rushed around towards him. Heart pounding, Stan rolled under the bed and curled up as far in as he could get.

It was cold down here, and dusty, spider webs crisscrossing the beams above his head. Stan hugged his knees and gasped for breath.

Where the heck _was_ he? Who was this guy? Where were Ford, and Ma, and his room and his house?

“Stanley?” A voice called. Deep and male and it sounded like Pa but not quite. Stan would have taken being alone with _Pa_ over this. There was rustling as the person knelt next to the bed. Stan whimpered and curled up tighter. Maybe if he stayed still and very quiet, they would go away.

A man’s face peered into the shadows. His glasses reflected the light but – there was something familiar about those brown curls, the shape of his mouth, the concerned tilt of his brows.

“ _Ford_?” Stan blurted. Ford – because it was Ford, wasn’t it, even though he was grown up? – nodded, seemingly at a loss for what to do. They sat there for a moment before Ford reached a hand towards him.

It was probably to help him out from under the bed, but Stanley took the chance to count his fingers. One, two, three, four, five, six. Yep, this was Ford alright. He grabbed the huge hand and crawled out of the dusty shadows.

Ford was _huge_. He looked like an adult, Stan realized as he shook dust from his clothes and sneezed. He looked like Pa, but without the sunglasses and the scowl and the grey hair.

“What _happened_ to you?” Stan demanded. “You’re all – big.”

Ford’s eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t made a move to stand up from where he was kneeling. To be honest, Stan didn’t want him to stand up – he didn’t like the idea of his brother looming over him.

“You don’t remember?” Ford’s voice was deeper than he was used to. It still sounded like a nerd’s voice, though, so that was something. Stan frowned.

“Remember what? This isn’t home. Where are we? And you – you’re _old_. What’s going on?”

Ford ran a hand across his face and groaned. “Okay. This is _fine_. So you reverted to a child in memories as well. Just – great.”

And then he stood up and started walking. Stan trailed after his brother as he sat at a desk and started writing in a big book. Stan wasn’t tall enough to see what he was writing.

“Uh, Ford?”

No answer. Stan stood there awkwardly while Ford scratched away in his book. He really wasn’t liking how – how _weird_ his brother was being. He felt like he’d missed something big. But with the way Ford was acting Stan was nervous to ask, and that made him even more worried. Ford had never been this distant before.

“I called you here.” Ford said suddenly, making Stan jump. The nerd still wasn’t looking up from his book. “I needed your help hiding my journals. You came to my house. Do you remember that?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” A thought struck Stan and he blinked. “Wait, are we in the _future_?”

“In a manner of speaking, you are.” Ford sighed. “Listen carefully, Stanley. I asked you to come, so you could take my journal far away and hide it.”

“Why?”

“It contains very dangerous information. I have to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

“Oh, okay.” Yeah, that made sense. That kind of stuff was always happening in the new Sci-Fi show Ford loved. Of course, that was a show, but they’d seen weird things before. Like the Jersey Devil! Plus, if anyone was gonna write something epic and powerful and smart, it would be Ford.

His brother sent him an odd look out of the corner of his eye but continued.

“When you got here – you were my age then – we got into an argument. You knocked into one of my samples and got it all over you. Then you turned into – this. A younger version of yourself.”

Stan blinked. “I was old?”

“We’re twenty seven, Stanley ­– or at least I am. I was investigating water from the spring of youth, but I only came across it recently so I haven’t had time to work out how to undo its effects. I’ll have to get a new sample to experiment on, since you destroyed the only one I had.”

Destroyed? Stan rubbed the back of his neck, shame twisting in his stomach. “Aw man, bro, sorry I broke your thing.”

Ford stiffened. Stan rushed to continue, afraid he’d said something wrong.

“But you can – can get a new one, right? And I can help. And then we can do the thing you wanted, hide the book, right? It’ll be like burying pirate treasure! Oh! If this is the future, did we get the Stan O’ War fixed?” He vibrated with excitement. “Is she seaworthy? Do we go sailing?”

“I’m trying to write, Stanley.” Ford said stiffly, coldly. He’d never used that voice with Stan before. It was unnerving. “Why don’t you go downstairs and get something to eat?”

“Uh… okay. Sure.” Stan mumbled, subdued. Maybe the Stan O’ War could wait.

For the first time he noticed the state of his clothes – well, cloth, since there was only one piece – a too-big shirt that hung off him like a huge smock. He considered asking for a change of clothes. But if he used to be a grownup, they would probably only have grownup clothes. Plus, Ford seemed pretty upset and Stan didn’t want to bother him.

So he held his tongue and wandered out of the room, into the rest of the house. It was big, and super messy. Stan passed what looked like a – a triangle shine? – as he explored a room that may have been a lounge. He poked his tongue out at it. The grumble of his stomach seemed very loud in the quiet. Ford was right, he hadn’t even realized he was hungry!

Eventually he found the kitchen. An investigation of the fridge showed it was empty except a quarter-full jar of peanut butter. Well, better than nothing. Stan found a spoon among the dishes and shuffled over to the dingy table to eat. He had to brush a few papers away to make space.

Okay. So this was really weird. Definitely not scary though. Stan refused to be scared. Even if he desperately missed the security of home, of having his brother by his side-

But this Ford _was_ his brother – just a bit older. And wasn’t that good? Ford was older, he knew what was going on, he could fix it. Stan just had to wait for him to make things go back to normal. And wasn’t it so cool that his nerd brother would grow up to be a nerdy scientist? He couldn’t wait to go back home and tell _his_ Ford the adventure he’d gone on.

Secure once again, Stan decided to investigate this weird place. His Ford would wanna ask a _lot_ of questions about it, after all. He shoved a final spoon of peanut butter into his mouth and jumped up to explore.

There was _so much_ weird stuff here! Stan had no idea what half of it did. Though, that was true of a lot of things. He peered into some kind of office room with a chalk circle on the floor and candles scattered around, before deciding Ford probably wouldn’t like it if he messed with his stuff.

There was a door that, once opened, showed a dark, yawning staircase stretching out below. Stan peered around for a light switch. Finding none, he shrugged to himself and decided to brave it.

The stairs seemed to go on forever. Stan’s breathing and the tap-tap-tap of his footsteps seemed uncomfortably loud in the enclosed space. A flickering bluish light lit up whatever was below. Stan squinted to try and figure out what it was.

He soon found out, however, when he ended up in some huge lab. The majority of the space was taken up by some _gigantic_ structure, a big circle like the kind you’d blow bubbles with but surrounded with technology junk. It looked like something straight out of Star Trek!

“Whoa.”

Stan walked over to a console to stare at all the buttons. Did Ford know how to use this thing? Did Ford _build_ it? Jeez, he’d always known Ford was the smart twin but this was _epic._ And if Ford could build _this_ thing, between the two of them the Stan O’ War was gonna be the greatest ship ever!

Stan paused. He knew he really shouldn’t be messing with Ford’s stuff, but that big red button was tempting him. Surely it couldn’t hurt to find out what this thing could do?

Stanley bit his lip, tossing up his options. He was spared from having to make a decision by stomping footsteps and a shout.

“ _Stanley_!”

* * *

In hindsight, letting a child roam freely around a house that doubled as a lab and testing site was… not the smartest move to make. In Ford’s defence he had been distracted when he suggested it. Stan had started talking about breaking projects, and that _stupid_ boat, and it took every iota of Ford’s self-control to not snap and yell at him.

 _He’s a child. He has no memories of what happened. He doesn’t know what he’s saying_.

After about twenty minutes of writing observations in his journal Ford had come to the conclusion that letting a child – even worse, _Stanley_ – loose in this place could be dangerous. He closed his journal and descended to make sure he was staying out of trouble.

But Stanley wasn’t downstairs. He wasn’t anywhere Ford checked. With increasing distress Ford stuck his head outside to see if the child had ventured into the woods. No sign of him, and the thick layer of snow was untouched. But the only other place he could have gone was-

The lab. 

Ford cursed himself for not noticing that the door to the lab was hanging ajar. Stupid sleep deprivation! Ford stormed down the stairs, caught between fury and concern. What if Stan _hurt_ himself?

When he reached the bottom, however, and found his brother staring at the portal’s controls, fury won out.

“ _Stanley_!”

Stan snapped around guiltily. “Uh, hey, Ford-”

“What are you doing down here? This is my lab, it’s dangerous! You can’t touch _anything_!” Ford marched over and snatched his brother away from the controls. “What if you broke something? Or got hurt?”

Stan yelped. Ford tucked him under one arm and started back up the stairs, gritting his teeth.

“From now on you are not to come down here. Understood?”

“Mm hmm.” Stan mumbled. Once at the top of the stairs Ford placed him down to close and lock the door firmly. He turned back to Stan to continue the scolding, but… Stan looked like he was about to cry. His face was screwed up and he stared at the floor as if he could will away the tears that Ford could see gathering in his eyes.

A surge of _guilt_ washed over Ford, which was ridiculous, because he had nothing to be guilty about. He sighed.

“Stanley, I…” What was there to say? “It’s late. I’ll set you up in the spare room.”

Stan sniffed and nodded.

Luckily Stan had always been resilient, and he perked back up while Ford went about preparing the bed in the spare room. He hadn’t had visitors for so long that he’d started using it as a workbench.

This had been Fiddleford’s room, back when they had worked together. The thought of his old research assistant sent a spike of guilt through him. Yet another warning that he had ignored, and in the process he’d destroyed the one human friendship he had.

No, he didn’t have time to reminisce. Not with Stanley to deal with and the threat of Bill looming over him at any given time. Ford harshly shoved all thoughts of Fiddleford from his mind and threw a blanket over the bed. It wasn’t very thick but it would have to do.

He was lost in thought as he absently picked up his brother and placed him on the bed. There, problem solved. Ford had more important work to do. For starters, he had to figure out some way to get the unicorn hair he needed for a protective spell against Bill. Until he could put up the barrier it wouldn’t be safe to dismantle the portal, which meant Bill had a much better chance of figuring out how to get in and activate it.

He paused in the doorway to glance at his watch. What was the time, somewhere after midnight? Two-ish apparently. At daybreak he could try again to get the unicorn hair. But he also had to figure out how to cure Stan. Would it be better to leave that until after he had Bill-proofed his house? Stan would be in the way the whole time, but he would be less of an obstacle than he would be as an adult.

But then again, an adult Stan could drive away and be out of the equation entirely. While he was a child Ford was stuck with him. Also, adult Stan also might agree to take the journal when he found out that Ford had cured him. Yes, it was probably better to do that first-

“I can almost see yer ears smoking!”

The chirp made him jump. Ford whipped around to stare at Stanley, who was blinking at him from his spot on the bed.

“Ya were standing in the doorway looking blank for like, five minutes.” The child explained at Ford’s stare. “Watcha thinking about?”

Ford took a slow, steadying breath. “Truthfully? The situation I’m currently in. I have far too much on my plate, and very little time to deal with it.”

“Well, is there anything I can do?” Stan tipped his head. The action made him look rather like a puppy. Despite his tiredness and frustration, the sight made Ford’s mouth tip into a smile.

“I don’t suppose you can charm unicorns as well as you charm old people into giving you sweets?”

“Hey, I don’t make ‘em give me stuff, they just wanna! All I gotta do is play it up a bit.” Then Stan seemed to register the first statement. “Whoa, hold up. Did you say _unicorns_?”

“Yes, but believe me, they’re not quite as pleasant as the kind you’re imagining. And they very much dislike parting with their hair.” Ford’s lip curled. “Quite irritating, actually.”

“Where did you find _unicorns_?” Stan demanded excitedly, slipping off the bed to rush to Ford and grab his coat in chubby fists.

“The forest, of course. Gravity Falls is home to numerous creatures not found anywhere else in the world. Why do you think I moved here?” Ford couldn’t quite hold in a snort at the way his brother’s eyes sparkled. “I’m surprised you haven’t seen any gnomes already. They often sneak in to raid the pantry.”

“Are they here now? Can I see ‘em?” Stanley gasped out in a rush.

“No. I do have some sketches in my journal though…”

Stanley let out a whoop and darted past him. Ford watched him scramble up the stairs to where Ford’s room was. How did he… no, he’d woken up in Ford’s room, of course he knew where it was.

“Stanley!” Ford called after him. “Stan, you should be in bed!”

“I’m not tired!”

Oh, for the love of…

Ford sighed and followed, albeit at a slower pace. He had no idea how they’d had that much energy as children. It seemed boundless.

At any rate, he doubted Stanley would be getting to sleep any time soon, and he had to keep an eye on the child to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble. At least his presence shouldn’t hinder Ford too much. Stan could draw or look at pictures or whatever children did while Ford worked on finding a cure.

“FO-ORD!” Stanley yelled. “Come on, hurry up! You got so many books here! Are there mermaids in this weird place too? Oh my gosh there’s mermaids aren’t there? Which one’s your diary thing? I wanna SEE!”

“Coming.” Ford huffed out another sigh and picked up the pace.


	3. That doesn't mean anything, right...?

Awareness came in pieces, like waves lapping over the shore, slowly bringing back each sense. Ford yawned and rolled his neck to ease out a crick. He really should stop sleeping sitting up.

The warm form cuddled against him stirred and he placed a soothing hand on their head of soft curls until they stilled, burying their face in his shirt. Ford hummed happily and let his head rest back against the headboard, content to just stay here forever…

…wait a second.

Ford’s eyes flung open with a jolt.

What had he been thinking, falling _asleep_? Sleep was the one thing he couldn’t afford! He looked around quickly, heart pounding. He was still sitting against the headboard of his bed, pillows propped behind his back and a child-sized Stanley curled up in his lap, the way they had been when he must have fallen asleep part way through telling stories of his previous discoveries. His journal lay open at his feet. To his relief it was bereft of cryptic code and taunts. Bill must have been busy, or perhaps had not noticed Ford’s slip-up. He hadn’t been possessed.

Ford cursed himself. How could he have made himself vulnerable like that? The portal was wide-open for the taking! And there was no telling what Bill Cipher would do to his brother – his _child_ brother, who was currently helpless and foolishly, trustingly snuggled against the front of Ford’s turtleneck.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn’t change the past, only the future. Now he had other things to concentrate on – namely, building a Bill-proof barrier, since his investigation on how to cure Stanley had hit a snag – he had none of the components he would need to start reverse-engineering a cure. The sun peeking through his window told that he must have been sleeping for at least an hour. Morning was already slipping away from him.

“Mmmph.” Stanley mumbled. Ford’s hand was still in his curls. Ford couldn’t resist ruffling those curls as Stan pulled his head up, yawning and blinking sleepily. “F’rd?”

“Good morning, Stanley.”

Stan rubbed at his eyes. “Whaza time?”

“Time to start working. Come on, up you go.” Ford lifted his brother from his lap. Stan whined at being put down on the covers.

“Nooooo, ‘s cold!”

“Then hurry up and get moving.” Ford swung his legs over the bed and stood. “I have a lot to do today.”

Stan grumbled the whole time. He was still wearing that old shirt. Perhaps Ford should get him something that fit better? No, it would be useless in a day or so anyway.

Ford spoke to himself as he walked.

“Now, I’ll have to go as soon as possible to get that hair – what’ll I do with you? Oh, children need to receive their daily nutrients, don’t they? Hmm, when was the last time I ate?” He couldn’t recall. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter, I’m an adult, I can stand to skip a few – hmm. Weeks? No, that can’t be right. I should eat too. I have coffee? Is it safe to give a child coffee?” He opened the fridge and stared in dismay at the rows of empty shelves. “Oh. That’s why I haven’t eaten. Guess I’ll just have to – buy some supplies. Yes. Come along Stanley, we’re driving into town.”

“Who’stha whatnow?” Stan stumbled into the kitchen after him. That was right, his brother was certainly not a morning person. Ford wondered again how ethical it was to give a child coffee. Probably shouldn’t risk it.

“Town, Stanley. I have to do some shopping. And come to think of it, you’ll need someone to watch you…” Unless he could just leave the child locked in a room? Ford wasn’t exactly familiar with babysitting protocol. Maybe it was better to just bring him along for now.

He dropped one of his old coats around Stanley’s shoulders and ushered him outside. The coat was a good call ­– it was still freezing. Ford was climbing into the car when he hit another snag.

“…ah.” He didn’t have a booster seat. Stanley would be riding in the back seat, it seemed.

Luckily the town was still waking up, so it was quite simple to walk in, grab some supplies, pay and leave without having to deal with the hustle of crowds. Ford pulled up in his driveway with a relieved sigh. He thanked his lucky stars that Gravity Falls was slow to wake on a Sunday… wait, no, what day was it?

Didn’t matter. 

With his arms full of groceries, Ford nudged the door open with his foot. He could hear Stan grunting under the weight of his own load as he placed the bags on the kitchen bench.

Maybe he _had_ gone a little over the deep end, Ford admitted to himself as he went about sorting groceries. He hadn’t realized until this morning that his fridge was _empty_. That did explain the hollow feeling in his stomach though. Come to think of it, when was the last time he ate? Not counting the copious amounts of coffee and energy drinks he ordered weekly.

It also explained Stan’s rumbling stomach. Honestly, Stan should have _said_ something if he was hungry!

Said child wobbled his way into the kitchen with a shopping bag in his arms. Ford took it and started unloading it as well. Marshmallows – he didn’t remember buying those. Maybe Stanley snuck them into the cart. Ford could remember the gleeful giggles he and Stan would break into when they’d managed to sneak a treat into their mother’s shopping cart. Stan was always better at it than Ford.

Ford shook his head to clear it. He had no time for nostalgic thoughts anymore. He snagged two frozen single-serve pies plates and started searching for clean plates to put them on. Finally he found two with only a few crumbs on them – he brushed one off and placed it in the microwave, trying to remember if he’d paid his electricity bill recently.

He must have, because the microwave was heating and glowing when he pressed the right buttons. Ford sighed and leaned against the bench to wait.

Stanley was in the process of pushing a chair towards the table. He paused to let out a gigantic yawn, rubbing his eyes with his too-big sleeve.

“Tired?” Ford found himself asking. Stan nodded and yawned again.

“Mm hmm.”

“Did you have trouble getting to sleep?” The uncomfortable position must not have helped.

Stan finished pushing the chair and now he crawled up into it and rested his elbows on the table. On closer inspection he did look tired, dark bags collecting under his eyes.

“Nah.” Stan rested his cheek on one hand, squishing his round face slightly. “Just had weird dreams.”

A shiver ran down Ford’s spine.

He hadn’t even _considered_ if – what would happen if Stan made a deal with Bill Cipher? Had _already_ made a deal? It would explain why Bill wasn’t in Ford’s dreams. Ford hadn’t warned his brother about the demon, he’d been so sure that Bill would focus on him and him alone, but Stanley was vulnerable here and Ford hadn’t even _thought_ about it-

“Did you make a deal?” He demanded. Stan blinked at him blearily.

“What?”

“A deal. In your dream. Did you shake anyone’s hand? Talk to anyone?”

Stan shook his head with another yawn. “Don’ think so.”

He was a child, Ford reminded himself sharply, a child that didn’t grasp the significance of what was happening. He needed to have _patience_. Or else Stan might clam up and refuse to talk to him further.

“Stanley.” Ford forced his tone to stay even and slow. Stan send him a curious look. “I need you to tell me everything that happened in your dream. It might be important. Okay?”

Stan frowned. “Uh – okay. Are you gonna interpret my dream, like Ma does?”

“…something like that. But it’s very important you don’t leave out any details.”

“Okay.” Stan hummed for a minute, in thought, before he brightened. “Oh, yeah! So I was in my car – I mean, I don’t have a car, but it was a dream and you just _know_ stuff in dreams so even though I don’t have a car I knew it was _my_ car – and it was all snowy outside. I think I was stuck in a snow bank or something. Hey Ford, where do snowmen keep their money?”

The microwave beeped. Ford placed the hot pie in front of Stanley and searched for a fork. “A snow bank. Continue.”

Stan pouted. “You ruined my joke!”

Ford handed him a fork. Stan sighed and poked at his pie while Ford started heating up his own. After a moment the child continued, his voice uncharacteristically somber.

“It was really cold. Like, _really_ cold. I could see my breath and it wasn’t even cool. Haha – cool. I… didn’t know cold hurt so much. It was like my bones were made of ice, all cracking and popping.”

“Was anyone in the car with you?”

Stan screwed up his face in thought. “Um, no. Just me.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, I had some matches and I was lighting them for warmth, but then they ran out.” Stan paused for a moment with a frown, comedic on his childish features. “I, um, was looking for some more in the glove box and a gun fell out. An’ I don’t know where I got it but I know it’s mine. S’ gotta be, if it’s in my car, right? But I don’t remember where I got it and I don’t know if it’s got any bullets in it.”

Ford nodded along. If Stanley could recall the dream so vividly, it probably wasn’t a normal dream, the likes of which tended to fade as quickly as they had appeared. But so far it didn’t seem like Bill’s style.

“What happened then?”

Stan bit his lip, wincing. “Um, you remember how we used to play Russian Roulette with soda cans? How we’d shake one up and take turns opening ‘em and try not to get the fizzy one?”

Ford got a bad feeling in his gut. “Of course.”

“I, um, I can’t remember why, but I wanted to find out if it had bullets in it. So I put it to my head and pulled the trigger.” Stan pulled a face like he’d tasted something sour. “There was this click and I guess it was empty because nothing happened. So I put it back and curled up all small, because it was still super cold, and I think I went back to sleep.” Stan shrugged with one shoulder. “Then it ended.”

Well, there was a lot to unpack there, and Ford could unpack it later. The microwave beeped to signify his breakfast was sufficiently warmed. He took it and slid into the seat opposite Stan.

“Is that everything? No one talked to you? How clearly do you remember it?”

“S’weird.” Stan admitted, pulling off the top of the pie to get at its insides. “So normally dreams kinda fade, all fuzzy-like, right? But the ones I had last night aren’t fading. It feels real but not-real.”

“Vivid?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stan shrugged. Ford took a bite of his pie and was chewing before he registered what had just been said. He spluttered a little.

“Ones? Plural?”

“Uh, yeah.” Stan shrugged again. “The other one was weirder. Do you wanna know about that one too?”

“Do I – why wouldn’t I? Why didn’t you mention that?”

“Well, it was shorter and way more blurry. I couldn’t even see anything so I don’t think it really counts as a dream.”

“Tell me.”

Stan scrunched up his face. “You sure? It’s kinda silly.”

Ford sent him a look and Stan sighed.

“ _Fine_. In the second one it was all dark, I couldn’t see anything. Well, not at first. There was this… man.” Stan shuddered. “This, uh, really creepy guy. And he put me in a coffin? No, um, a car trunk I think. It was all dark and then I couldn’t see anything. Then there was just lots of noises, and rumbling, and it got all wet.”

“Wet?” Ford echoed. Stan shrugged.

“Yeah, all wet. And cold. Like I’d been dumped in a lake or somethin’! Cause the whole trunk started flooding, which was really scary. An’ I don’t remember how I got out but at some point I was swimmin’ up feeling like my lungs were gonna explode.” Stan shivered, hugging himself. “An’ my mouth hurt and the water tasted like metal an’ it was so _dark_. Then, um… I dunno, I woke up or something?” He frowned. “Wait, no, there was something else – about a llama that knew too much? It all kinda gets smudgy.”

Unsettling, certainly, and something to ask questions about later – but for now it sounded like Bill had missed his chance to mess with the Pines twins. Ford let himself relax slightly.

“Thank you, Stanley, for telling me.”

“So are you gonna read my future or something?”

“No.”

Stan poked out his tongue. Ford sighed. The matter aside, he still had to find someone to look after Stanley while he got the unicorn hair! But there was only one person in Gravity Falls he trusted, and…

Well, that person might not pick up the phone.

But desperate times called for desperate measures. Surely, _surely_ Fiddleford would at least hear him out? And if that failed Ford could always lock the child in a room for a couple hours.

Mind made up, Ford excused himself to go make a call.

His palms were oddly sweaty as he dialed the number he knew off by heart and pressed enter. The phone rang once, twice, thrice in his hand. Surely a hopeless endeavor. Ford was sure he wasn’t going to pick up, when there was a click and a crackly voice sounded tiredly down the line.

“Hello?”

His old assistant’s voice sent his heart leaping in his chest. Ford hurriedly cleared his throat. “Fiddleford? It’s me, Stanford.”

In the half-second of frigid silence that followed, Ford began to realize he might have made a mistake by introducing himself.

“Wait!” He gasped out. “Please don’t hang up.”

“What do ya want?” Fiddleford growled out. He sounded so unlike himself that it made Ford pause. But – no. This was Fiddleford. His research assistant. His friend. The one person he could trust.

“I – I need your help.” Ford admitted. He plunged on before Fiddleford could interrupt, “I was an idiot. You were right – about the portal, about Bi- the demon.”

There was a crackly silence. Ford took a deep breath.

“I know that what I did is unforgiveable. I abandoned you and refused to heed your warnings. I understand if you can never forgive me. But please, I need your help to fix what I’ve done.”

“I aint goin’ near that portal!” Fiddleford’s voice lifted in both volume and pitch. Ford hurried to reassure him.

“No, no, of course not. That’s not what I need your help with. And it’s not for me, it’s for my twin brother.”

“You have a _twin_?” Fiddleford demanded, a lilt of curiosity sneaking into his tone. He sounded a little more like the man Ford knew. “Why didn’t ya tell me that?”

“Stan and I haven’t on the best of terms recently.” Ford explained. “Fiddleford, you’re a father, you know how to take care of children. I need you to take care of my brother – just for a little while.”

“Whoa, hold up.” There was shuffling on the other end of the line. “I’m gonna need ya to go back to the beginning. What did ya get yourself into this time?”

Ford chuckled humorlessly. “An experiment gone wrong. Stanley – my twin brother – has been reverted back into a child.”

A pause.

“Fiddleford?”

His friend let out a sigh. “Yeah, sure, course this is happening. Weird stuff always happens around you, Stanford.”

Ford chose to take that as a compliment. “I currently have my hands full. There is a spell – a magical barrier, in fact – that can protect us against the demon you warned me about, allowing me to disassemble the portal without risk. But to do this I have so obtain several rare ingredients. I can’t take Stanley with me, and I can’t leave him alone. I was hoping you would be able to watch him. Just for a little while!” He added nervously. “I know Stanley can be a handful but I’ll be back as quickly as I can and-”

“Ford, shut yer yap.”

Ford shut up.

“I’ll not leave a child alone, no matter what I think of his brother. When d’ya need him taken care of?”

Ford let out a breath and thanked any and all deities that may have lent a helping hand. “I was hoping, today? As soon as possible?”

Fiddleford groaned. “Fine, _fine_ – but only for the kid!” He added. “And in the name of keepin’ that demon away. Not for you.”

“I understand completely.”

“Ya still at yer cabin?”

“Yes.”

“’Course ya are. Now, how old’s yer brother?”

“Ah…” Hmm. Ford had never been good at ages. He’d passed through them himself and never looked back. “He’s old enough to talk. And complain about not having clothes that fit. Maybe about as old as Tate was when I last saw him…?”

Another long-suffering sigh. “A’right, a’right. I’ll bring some old clothes of Tate’s, see if they fit, and I’ll watch the little tyke for ya. But I’m not goin near that portal. Or any of your hinky experiments, ya hear?”

“Certainly. Thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in an hour, maybe two.”

“Thank you.” Ford said again. Fiddleford hung up.


	4. Fiddleford to the Rescue

Stan started when there was a sharp knocking at the front door. He hadn’t thought anyone was coming – but evidently Ford had known, because he jumped up to let them in. The person who stepped inside was a twig of a man, carrying a duffel bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The guy looked pretty tired – sorta like those people who sometimes slept under the jetty with bloodshot eyes and cans scattered around them. But this man didn’t reek of beer and cigarettes. Blue eyes darted around behind thick glasses before landing on Stan and softening.

“Ah. This is your brother, I ‘spect?” The stranger spoke with a thick accent. Stan hadn’t heard an accent like his before.

“Yes. Thank you for coming.” Ford was a flurry of motion, darting here and there and packing things in a big shoulder bag. “I need to go, I have to get this barrier up as soon as possible. I should be back by this evening. There’s food in the fridge, I’m not sure what bills I’ve paid recently so there may or may not be hot water, and Stanley, behave!”

With that Ford disappeared, the front door slamming behind him. Stan froze, voice squeaking in a totally cool and manly way.

“Wait – Ford? Where are you-”

Yeah, he was already gone. Leaving Stan alone with this strange man. Stan stood self-consciously in the middle of the lounge, hyper aware of those eyes on him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

The stranger broke the silence first, kneeling down to be at eye-level with Stan. “You must be Stanley. I guess Ford forgot ta introduce us. Wouldn’t be the first thing ‘e forgot.” The guy smiled a slightly crooked smile and held out one hand. “I’m Fiddleford, an old… friend of ya brother’s. I’m here to look after ya for a while. Is that okay?”

“…I guess so.” Stan stepped forward hesitantly to shake the man’s hand. Despite its thinness his hand was rough and calloused, worn with work. His smile was infectious and Stan found himself mirroring it. “You can call me Stan. Everyone does.”

“Well then, you can call me Fidds.” Fiddleford’s bright eyes combed over him for a moment before the man started riffling through his duffel bag. “Now, I got some old clothes of my son’s that I figure will fit better than that shirt. You wanna give it a shot?”

Stan nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Who’s your son? Is he coming too?”

“No, Tate’s in California right now.” The man lifted a couple items of clothing. “Alright, let’s take a looksee at what we got.”

* * *

Stanford’s little brother was cute as a button. Well, twin brother apparently, not that that made much of a difference right now. The boy was all gap-toothed grins and twinkling eyes and curious questions. Fiddleford let him choose some clothes he liked – a pirate shirt and a pair of faded yellow shorts – and helped the little kid get dressed. Stan chatted excitedly the whole time.

“S’weird! I just woke up here yesterday and Ford was all _old_. He’s grumpier now too. So if this is the future how do we know you? When do I meet you? We probably haven’t met yet while I’m this age right? No, I think I’d remember seein’ you even if you were a kid like me! You got a mem-or-ab-le nose. Kinda like mine!” Stan poked his own pink nose to demonstrate. “’Cept mine and Ford’s are wide and yours is long. Does your son have the same nose?”

Fiddleford laughed and slipped the shirt over the squirming boy’s head. There were so many questions, he figured he’d try and answer them in order.

“Ford _is_ grumpy now, isn’t he? And I’m a friend of Ford’s from college. This is the first time we’ve met at all, so you wouldn’t know me even as an adult with all yer memories. And Tate does have my nose, unfortunately.”

Stan blinked up at him owlishly. Fiddleford smoothed down his ruffled cowlick. “So… you know Ford but not me? Why doesn’t future-me know you?” Then Stan shook his head with a smile. “You said college, right? I bet that’s why! Pa says I’m too stupid for college. But o’course Ford got in. He’s real smart, ya know!” The kid finished proudly. Fiddleford hesitated.

“Your father says…” Stanford hadn’t spoken much of his family. Fiddleford was starting to see why. The idea of a man telling his son – his son who couldn’t be any older then twelve – that he was _stupid_ filled his chest with fire.

Fiddleford tried to stamp out the anger before Stan could see it on his face. No sense in scaring the child. Instead he changed the subject, carefully poking at one of Stan’s hands.

“So, ya got hands like ya brother’s?”

“Oh, no, I just got the borin’ five fingers.” Stan waggled his fingers to demonstrate.

“Really?” Well that was interesting. “But yer practically identical otherwise! Well, I guess it makes sense that yer not totally the same, seein’ as you don’t have the same eyesight anyway.”

“Oh, we do.” Stan chirped, leaving Fiddleford flabbergasted.

“But ya don’t have glasses!”

“Oh yeah, I don’t need em ‘cause I’m not smart.” Stan’s smile faltered for a moment before recovering. “Pa says glasses are expensive and Ford needs his, so I don’t. Hey, you got glasses too! You _must_ be smart.”

Fiddleford once again tried very hard to not let his anger show. He must not have done a very good job, because Stan shrank back.

“Er – I’m sorry?”

Darn it, and he’d been trying to get the little tyke to trust him! Fiddleford forced an apologetic smile on his face.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for. I was just thinkin’ I’d like to have a word with yer brother when he gets back.”

Stan still looked dubious, so Fiddleford tried another strategy.

“You know, I reckon Ford’s gotta have a spare set of glasses lying around. Do you wanna look for ‘em, borrow ‘em for a while? The prescription should be close enough. I got some old books a’ Tates you might like and it’ll be easier if you can see ‘em.”

Stan twisted his hands together. “I dunno. Ford got pretty mad when I messed with his stuff before.”

“He’ll be fine. Besides, I’m just as adult as him. I think I can make decisions without that worrywart around.”

Just as Fiddleford had thought he would, Stan laughed. “Yeah, he is a worrywart! An’ Ford’s let me borrow his glasses before when we were switchin’ clothes to play a prank on Crampelter. So he can’t get mad now!”

The kid seemed to have immediately forgotten about his upset. That made Fiddleford’s smile come a little easier, a little warmer.

“Well, now that that’s settled, how about we go look for those glasses? And we’ll see if you like any a’ these books. Ya feel like learnin’ about isopods?”

“I have no idea what that is!” Stan whooped.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

* * *

It was nice, Fiddleford reflected, having a child around. He hadn’t interacted with kids since he’d last seen Tate. How long ago had that been…?

Fiddleford made sandwiches for lunch, and they ate while flipping through picture books. Stan especially liked the one with krill and whale sharks. Then the kid had started telling delightful stories about old ships and adventures on Glass Shard Beach, and who was Fiddleford to interrupt?

By evening Stan had worn himself out, and Fiddleford made him a cup of hot chocolate while he decided what to fix for dinner. Of course Ford had little in the way of food. There was some frozen and tinned stuff, but little in the way of healthy foods. Stanford was terrible at taking care of himself.

Fiddleford glanced out of the window at the ever-darkening sky. Sure, he was still hopping mad at Stanford, but… he couldn’t help but worry. Not when the man had been gone all day in the snow. And when his adorable little brother was getting antsy.

“ _Fidds_ , when’s Ford gettin’ back?” Stan whined, right on time. “You said he’d be back soon.”

Fiddleford busied himself with looking in the fridge. There were some assorted vegetables lying around, wrinkled with age but not rotten – he could make fritters. Satisfied, he started gathering the ingredients.

“He’ll get here when he gets here.” Fiddleford rooted around until he found a grater. Stan sulked into his hot chocolate. He certainly had Stanford’s stubbornness! Fiddleford wondered if it was a family trait.

As if on cue, there was a commotion outside the front door. Fiddleford tensed. It swung open, and thankfully a familiar figure trudged inside.

“ _Ford_!” Stan squealed in delight. He scrambled from the kitchen table to throw himself at his brother’s legs. Ford, looking snow-flecked and rather frazzled, patted his head absently.

“Yes, yes, hello Stanley. Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes and continued making the fritters. Trust Stanford to make a dramatic entrance. Still, he eyed the man as he took off his snow-covered coat and boots. Stanford looked… rough. Not physically, but exhaustion was etched into every line on his face.

Fiddleford tutted and poured the man a coffee. Ford blinked as it was pushed into his hand.

“Oh – thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Didja meet the unicorn?” Stan pulled on his brother’s shirt, his own tiredness evidently forgotten in his excitement. Ford sighed.

“Yes, though she still stubbornly refuses to give me any of her hair. I did manage to obtain the rest of the ingredients though, so as soon as I get the hair I’ll be able to ward the house.”

Unicorn hair? Fiddleford was confused for all of two seconds before he shrugged it off. With Stanford, everything was a surprise. You just learned to roll with it.

And now that Ford was here…

“Stan, wouldja do me a favour?” Fiddleford asked gently. Stan nodded. “There should be a blanket up in the closet upstairs, all red and gold with snowflakes printed on it. It’s my favourite one. Could you go get it for me?”

“Sure.” Stan chirped, darting out of the room. Ford made a sound of confusion.

“I don’t remember that blanket.”

“’Course ya don’t, I made it up as an excuse to get Stan out of the room.” Fiddleford put down the grater and turned to meet Ford’s wary gaze from across the kitchen bench.

“…okay.” Ford said. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Stanford.” Fiddleford fixed him with a serious look. “Yer little brother’s a good kid.”

Ford sighed. “ _Twin_ brother. We’re twenty-seven.”

“Well right now he’s just seven. And you’d better not mess ‘im up. I’m watchin’ you.” He added with narrowed eyes.

Ford laughed nervously. “Honestly, what do you take me for?”

“A scientist who’s obsessed with his work and has no idea how to care for a child, _‘specially_ not a child who’s been abused.”

Ford’s eyes widened. “ _Abused_? I can assure you that Stanley hasn’t been _abused_.”

“I beg to differ!” Fiddleford said sharply. Ford had the audacity to look insulted. “With what the kid’s been tellin’ me, there’s no way he hasn’t been abused. For god’s sake, he doesn’t have glasses when he needs ‘em! And ‘e flinches when I so much as raise my voice – or my hand, for that matter. E’s got bruises all over, too. What am I supposed to think?”

“Stanley… he refuses to wear his glasses.” Ford said weakly. Fiddleford snorted.

“He’s been usin’ yer spare ones all day. Says ‘e likes bein’ able to see for once. In fact, he basically said yer father refused to buy ‘im glasses after his old pair got broken!”

“He’s been wearing my-?”

“Of course you didn’t notice. Have ya even laid eyes on the kid?”

“Of course I have.”

“So you did notice him wearin’ your spare glasses? No wonder ‘e thinks he’s stupid, he can’t read the words on a page two inches from his nose!”

Ford looked devastated. Right now, Fiddleford didn’t care. “But… no, that’s not right. Stanley always told me he hated wearing them.”

“Even besides that, what about the bruises?” Fiddleford challenged. “The kid’s covered in ‘em. And I’m givin’ you the benefit of the doubt here, because I don’t believe you’re the one who’s been roughin’ him up.”

“I – I-”

“So you’ll forgive me for bein’ a little concerned here! What kinda father would I be if I just sat back and ignored this? Yer brother’s been _abused_ , plain and simple.”

Ford floundered. Fiddleford sighed, a little of his anger evaporating.

“Well... I suppose if ya are really twins, ya probably wouldn’t have had a hand in it. An’ I don’t know the full story. But I do know this.” He leveled a finger at Ford’s face. “That kid trusts ya, more than he probably should. An’ we’re gonna have _words_ if you hurt him, or put him in danger, or do anything that’ll cause him harm. The boy’s suffered enough, I’ll not stand around and let it happen again. Ya understand?”

“Yes.” Stanford said quietly. “Yes, I do.”

“Good. Now that’s outta the way, I gotta ask; why on _earth_ didja not tell me about him before? We went to visit Shermie and his kids during that Christmas break a while back an’ no one mentioned another brother.”

Stanford flushed. “It’s… a family matter.”

Fiddleford leveled a cold stare at him. After a moment Ford sighed and averted his gaze.

“When we were teenagers Stanley sabotaged my one chance at getting into my dream college. He says it was an accident, but… anyway our father kicked him out and I haven’t heard from him since.”

Fiddleford held up a hand. “Hang on. Are my ears decievin’ me? You’re telling me your brother, who got booted outta his own home as a teenager, hasn’t been mistreated? My friend, you’ve got issues.”

Ford opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by Stan’s return. Fiddleford turned his attention to the sheepish boy who was currently wringing his hands and wincing at the doorway. “Um, sorry Fidds. I couldn’t find it.”

“That’s alright, I musta left it somewhere else. Now, didja wanna help me with makin’ dinner?”

Stan perked up at Fiddleford’s breezy tone, as if surprised he wasn’t in trouble. “Jeez! Can I?”

“Well sure, why wouldn’t you?” Fiddleford flashed the boy a smile. Stan beamed in return and scrambled to join him in the kitchen.

“Pa says cookin’s for ladies and we shouldn’t do it.”

“Well, your Pa seems to be wrong about a lotta things. Now, you know how ta use a grater? I’ll show you.”

Fiddleford could feel Ford’s gaze searing into his forehead. He flicked his attention up from Stan and cooking, just for a moment, to catch the conflicted stare. Ford looked away when their eyes met and cleared his throat.

“I’ll just – um – put these ingredients away for later.”

“You do that.” Fiddleford agreed coolly.

Stanford walked away, more subdued than usual. The sight of his slumped shoulders was enough to send a spark of guilt through Fiddleford’s chest. He _knew_ he was being too hard on the guy – especially with how wrecked Ford was looking – but his blood _boiled_ for this gap-toothed child with his cute curls and nervous laughs.

Fiddleford couldn’t comprehend the idea of kicking out his son. The idea was as foreign to him as the idea that they should all put sticks of butter under their hats and walk on their hands instead of their feet. Tate was his _son_ – his boy, his child. Fiddleford was sure that there was _nothing_ Tate could do that would made Fiddleford throw him out. The idea of Stanley and Stanford’s father kicking out a helpless teen? No matter what mess that teen had gotten himself into, it shouldn’t have happened. He felt a fierce protectiveness rise up in him.

No, and it most certainly wouldn’t happen again. No kid was getting kicked out on his watch. Nor hurt, even unintentionally by an oblivious scientist of a brother. Fiddleford would make sure of it.

He made sure both the Pines boys were fed before packing up his things with the promise of returning tomorrow. Stanley hugged his legs with a surprisingly strong grip – Fiddleford crouched down to return the hug properly.

“I had a real good time today. We’ll have to do this again some time, huh? Now, you got my phone number? Good. Call me if you need anything. Especially if that brother of yours gets into any trouble, okay?”

“Yes sir!” Stan saluted enthusiastically. Fiddleford laughed and ruffled his hair before glancing up to meet Stanford’s eyes. Ford was hovering in the doorway, seemingly unsure of whether to join them.

Fiddleford took pity on him and offered his old friend a smile. “I’ll see ya later, Stanford. Take care of ya brother.”

Ford smiled back nervously. And maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Stanford couldn’t smother the huge yawns that bubbled out of him. Curse this sleep deprivation! It made everything harder than it had to be. His sentences kept being interrupted by his own body’s involuntary reflexes.

Stanley followed him like a baby duck – a rather apt description, actually – while Ford bustled around the house. Ford sighed in annoyance when he very nearly tripped over his brother yet again, upon doubling back to retrieve a piece of equipment he’d forgotten.

“Stanley, shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Stan glanced away and rubbed his arm. “Well, I guess. But every time I go to sleep I get these weird dreams. I dunno, I was kinda hoping I could hang out with you?”

 _Dreams_ – dammit, Ford had forgotten to warn his brother! He dropped down to be at eye-level with Stan, who blinked at the sudden movement.

“Uh, what-?”

“You’re having odd dreams, correct?” Stan nodded so Ford continued. “Rest assured, they won’t be able to harm you, so long as you _never_ make a deal. If you come across anything triangular or yellow while in a dream you must not talk to it. It will talk to you and try to be your friend. Don’t trust anyone with yellow eyes, even if – no, _especially_ if that person is me. Don’t talk to it and _never_ shake its hand. Do you understand?”

“Um, yeah, but why? This is all soundin’ like Ma’s predictions.” Stan perked up. “Can you tell the future too? Does that mean I can as well?”

Ford sighed. “No, I can’t tell the future.”

“…can you make the weird dreams go away?” Stan questioned hesitantly.

“Yes, when I manage to get that unicorn hair – though I fear it may be a hopeless endeavor.” The weight of the day’s events – how could he ever hope to be pure of heart with all the wrong he had done? – sat heavily on his shoulders. Ford lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. “Go to bed, Stanley, and remember what I said about people with yellow eyes.”

“Yeah, yeah, never make a deal, I get it.” Stan paused, eyes flickering to the journal resting in Ford’s pocket and lighting up. “Can you tell me some more stories from your book before bed? Yesterday we got to the hidey-thing!”

“I don’t have time to read you stories, I have important work to do.”

Stan pouted. He looked up at Ford with those big brown eyes that were bigger than usual. It was then that Ford noticed the glasses – yes, Fiddleford had mentioned them, hadn’t he? Stan was wearing Ford’s spare glasses and they threatened to slip down his nose at every movement, far too big for him. They also had the added benefit of making him look very, very cute.

“How about I lend you my journal?” Ford relented. “You can read it by yourself before you go to sleep. I can tell you other stories later.”

Stan hesitated. “…yeah? I can borrow it?”

“So long as you don’t damage it, you may.” Ford dropped the book in his brother’s hands and turned to gather up an armful of equipment. “Go along now.”

Stanley scurried off to read, and Ford descended into the basement where his work waited.

When he emerged at seven thirty the next morning, Stan was gone.


	5. Finding Stan

Ford’s hands were shaking as he dialed. He clutched at the phone, whispering “Come on, come _on_!” with every ring.

Finally, on the sixth ring, there was a click. “Stanford?”

“Is Stanley with you?” Ford rushed out. There was a hesitation from the other side of the line.

“I… no, Stanley’s not-” Fiddleford’s voice turned shrill. “Ford, ya _lost_ yer brother???”

“No! I, well. Yes? I don’t know, Fiddleford, he was here when I went down to the basement but now he’s gone and I’ve searched the whole house, he’s not here!”

“How long were you gone for?” Fiddleford demanded.

“Only a few hours.”

“A few-” Fiddleford spluttered. “Ya shoulda just had me stay if you were gonna leave ‘im alone again!”

“I didn’t _mean_ to leave him for so long, I lost track of time! F, _please_.”

Fiddleford groaned. “Alright, alright. Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna start searchin’ the woods around your house. I’m gonna ask around town, see if ‘e came down here. And we’ll call when one of us finds ‘im. Alright?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you.” Ford stammered.

Fiddleford hung up with a _click_ , leaving Ford alone. Ford made it outside before realizing he wasn’t wearing a jacket and it was _freezing_ outside, he needed to get his jacket – and something for Stan too. Had Stan taken a jacket? No, of course not, Ford didn’t have one that would fit him which meant the child was alone and underdressed in the _snow_ and even if nothing else happened to him he could still _freeze_ to death. _How_ could Ford have left him alone?

“Hey Ford, look what I got!”

“Not now, Stanley.” Ford waved his hand dismissively at the approaching child, unwilling to be pulled away from his panic as he paced on the front porch. There was no time to be distracted, not while his brother was in danger–

Wait.

“ _STANLEY_!”

Stan let out a little yelp as Ford grabbed him, snatching his brother tight against him. Stan had come from the forest, judging by the trail of footprints leading from the tree line. He was shivering in Ford’s arms. Ford barged through the door and slammed it shut behind him, placing his brother on the living room carpet to inspect him.

“Geez, Ford! I’m _fine_!” Stan whined. A jacket far too big for him was bunched up around him and his feet were shoved into a pair of Ford’s boots (resourceful, a part of Ford noted) but he was still snow-dusted and shivering.

“Where were you? Do you have _any_ idea how worried I was?” Ford demanded. “What were you _doing_ out there?”

Stan laughed, showing a mouth with less teeth than there used to be. “I got fairy dust from a gnome! ‘Course, then the other unicorns saw me and I had to skedaddle, but I got the hair!” He brandished it in one fist triumphantly.

“Other unicorns – but – she said she was the last –” Ford shook his head quickly to clear it. “Never mind. Are you hurt?” Ford pulled his brother closer to inspect him, Stan wriggling and whining as he did so. His face and arms were all scratched up and his lower lip was swollen, a trickle of dried blood down his chin from when a tooth must have been knocked out. His jaw was beginning to darken in a nasty-looking bruise. “Stanley, what _happened_?”

“I toldja! One of the unicorns got me in the face but I got outta there quick. You were right Ford, unicorns are _jerks_. I take back everything I said about liking ‘em. And now you’ve got the hair you can do your spell thing, right?”

For the first time Ford comprehended the clump of shimmering rainbow hair in his brother’s tiny fist. “You… you got the hair?”

Stan nodded happily. “Yeah! You said you needed it and that unicorns are mean, and your book said how to find them. So I got it for you.” He held it out with a huge gap-toothed grin. Ford could do nothing but stare.

Slowly Stan’s grin crept away, one arm wrapping around himself self-consciously.

“Ford? Did – did I do something wrong?”

All at once life returned to Ford’s limbs and he forced himself into action, offering a small smile and carefully prying the unicorn hair from Stan’s fist. “No, Stanley. Well – you should have told me where you were going. In fact, you shouldn’t have gone out alone at all.” Stan shrunk a little. “But this is very helpful, so overall I would say you did rather well. Provided we don’t make this a repeat performance.”

“…so I’m not in trouble?”

“No, you’re not in trouble.” Ford didn’t even know what that would look like. Stan wasn’t in his right mind – Ford had to be extremely gentle with him right now. He had no idea what disciplinary measures would do to the wobbly balance they had struck.

And anyway, he was too elated to be angry for long. They had the _hair_ , which meant Ford could protect his house from Bill and _finally_ get some much-needed sleep. Once he was rested he would be able to come up with a game plan to defeat the one-eyed menace once and for all.

Ford straightened up, dusting the last few snowflakes from his brother’s hair. “I have a barrier to set up. Now, where did I put those moonstones?” A stray thought hit him. “Oh yes, I should call Fiddleford and let him know that you’re safe. He… will not be pleased with me.”

“Fidds is here?” Stan perked up.

“No, not here. I’ll call him in a moment, once we construct this barrier. Would you like to help me?”

“Sure!” Stan beamed at him again. Ford took a moment to study his brother’s rudimentary snow protection (boots and a jacket too big for him, evidently fished out of Ford’s closet, with sleeves rolled up to half length and still dropping down over his hands, and huge boots threatening to slip off with every step). Stan was lucky the ensemble held up during his escapade into unicorn territory. Those horns were sharp – who _knew_ what the unicorns could have done if Stanley had stuck around?

But Stan had done it for a reason, and that reason was currently clutched in Ford’s hand. He shook his head quickly to clear it and hurried to collect the other ingredients he would need. Once the ingredients were assembled Ford grabbed the glue and rushed out to set up the barrier, Stan hot on his heels.

“See, we need to glue the hair down here – like so – to form a ring around the house. This way Bill cannot enter.”

“Mmkay.” Stan peered around him to watch as Ford began pasting down the unicorn hairs. “Uh, who’s Bill?”

 _Dang it_. Ford sighed. Well, he would have to tell Stanley at some point, it may as well be now… “He’s – a very dangerous person, Stan. This barrier is going to protect us from him. He won’t be able to cross it.”

Stan frowned down at the fine line of rainbow hairs. “…are ya sure about that? Seems pretty easy to get past to me.”

“I’m very sure. Bill isn’t human, like you and I. He’s a demon. A dream demon, to be precise.”

“ _Oh_! Is he that guy with yellow eyes you were talkin’ about? The one I’m not supposed to make deals with?”

Ford shifted to the next spot, talking as he worked. “Yes, exactly. Bill is a very powerful entity who claims to be a benevolent muse, but anything he says he will give you is a lie. Do you know those stories Ma used to tell us, the ones where people would make deals with the devil and they’d get everything they asked for, but in some twisted, sick way?” Stan nodded. “That’s Bill.”

“…oh. Okay.”

Ford worked in silence for quite some time before his brother spoke up again.

“Hey, Ford?”

“Yes Stanley?” Ford didn’t look up from gluing down the unicorn hair.

“We don’t go sailing, do we?”

Ford very nearly froze. As it was, he continued to construct the barrier as his mind raced to come up with an appropriate answer.

He doubted that Stan would accept a lie and be placated – Ford was a terrible liar and Stan always seemed to know when he wasn’t being honest. He’d have to tell the truth. He could only hope that his brother wouldn’t throw a fit at having his childish dream denied.

“…no. We don’t go sailing.” Ford said carefully.

“Oh.” Stan paused. “Does the Stan O’ War get out of Jersey at least?”

“No. It was too small, anyway; by the time we grew large enough to sail it was far too small to support us in the open ocean.”

“You _are_ pretty big.” With that Stan nodded thoughtfully and went back to watching Ford construct the barrier. Ford waited for more questions, but… that was it? He’d expected a larger reaction.

Ford cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Stanley, but at this age…” In reality it was at any age but Stan didn’t need to know that, “I thought you would be more upset.” Stan sent him an odd look, and Ford elaborated. “The two of us sailing away on a boat has always been your dream.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Well, duh, but it’s not about the _boat_.”

Ford blinked. “It’s… not?” 

“No! C’mon ya dummy, treasure’s cool and all, but I just wanna do something with you!” Stan grinned and punched him lightly. “It’s okay that we don’t go sailing because we get to do this! Whatever ‘this’ is.” He shrugged. “Monster hunting…? Monster-science-people. Science – tology? Scientology?”

Ford clapped a hand over his brother’s mouth. “Nope, nope, that’s already a thing and we do not speak of it. Try again.”

Stan giggled and shoved his hand away. “Ugh, you know what I mean! This thing!” He waved wildly at the woods around them. “Stuff with unicorns and cool creepy labs and – whatever _that_ thing is.” He pointed to a gnome waddling out of the underbrush. “Holy – Sixer, what _is_ that? Is that one of those gnomes from your book?”

“Yes it is. They’re relatively harmless so long as you don’t interfere with their queen or try to steal their hats. They’re rather sensitive about the hats.”

With Stan occupied with the gnomes, Ford was able to quickly finish setting up the barrier. As the final piece fell into place an iridescent sheen flickered across the house, a smattering of symbols glowing across the shimmering barrier before it faded into the air from whence it came. Ford let out a shaky breath of relief.

“There. Bill won’t be able to reach us inside.”

Stan clomped up to him in too-big boots, a couple brown beard hairs clutched in his fist. “Hey Sixer, does gnome hair work too?”

“No. Now come inside and wash your hands, you don’t know where that’s been.” Ford placed a hand on his brother’s back to hurry him along but the screeching of brakes made him tense. It was only when he recognised Fiddleford’s beaten-up buggy zooming into view that he allowed himself to relax. Though… Fiddleford was travelling quite fast for his regular, cautious style of driving. The buggy pulled up sharply and a disheveled-looking Fiddleford clambered out, red in the face.

“ _Fidds_!” Stan called out happily. Fiddleford stomped over and Ford began to feel like a zebra watching a fast-approaching lion. He… probably should have called earlier to let his friend know that Stanley was safe.

Fiddleford let out a gasp when he noticed the child’s bruised face. “My word – Stanley, are ya alright? Ya look like ya went head-to-head with a feral cat!”

Stan beamed up at the man, who seemed to flinch when he noticed the missing tooth. “I’m fine, you should see the other guy!”

“…I’m sure he’s hurtin’.” Fiddleford sent Ford a glare, which – yeah, he probably deserved. Ford coughed awkwardly.

“Yes. I apologize for not calling you earlier. I had to set up the barrier as soon as possible…” He rubbed the back of his neck at the dry stare he received. “And I’m sorry for waking you up. No one is hurt, so you can go back home-”

“I’m not leavin’ you two alone again!” Fiddleford scolded. “Not if yer just gonna get into more trouble. No, I’m stayin’ right here until this age debacle is over, understood?”

“…Understood.” Ford echoed. “But – can we at least go inside first, where it’s safe?”

Fiddleford nodded and then turned to Stan, who had taken a nervous step back at the tension in the air. He relaxed slightly at the kind, if somewhat brittle, smile Fiddleford sent his way.

“Let’s get out of the cold, shall we?”

* * *

Sleep had been a luxury Ford had not been able to afford for weeks. Luckily, that meant that as soon as he relaxed and his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light. By the time he awoke the clock by his bed read eight-twenty in the evening and his window was dark.

Ford stretched, yawning hard as his mind slowly surfaced from thick, dreamless slumber. For a moment panic struck him and he sat bolt-upright in bed – before the memories of that morning trickled through and he remembered the barrier.

 _We’re safe. Bill can’t get to me. Stan and Fiddleford and I are safe_.

Speaking of the others, there was clattering going on across the house that sounded promisingly like pots and pans being moved. Ford’s stomach grumbled at him.

The sleep must have done him some good at least because at least his head wasn’t complaining anymore – his constant headache was all but gone. Even better, his mind no longer felt fuzzy and vague. In fact he could probably recite the digits of pi right now without getting dizzy! Ford did so in his mind as he made his way to the kitchen.

Fiddleford looked up from stirring a pot of soup as Ford approached. “Ah, Stanford. Come on and get some dinner, yer right on time. Stanley here was just tellin’ me about the unicorns.”

On a chair at the kitchen table, Stanley seemed to be in the middle of a dramatic reenactment, which – for some reason – involved a butterfly net, the saltshaker, and a too-big Hawaiian shirt.

“-so the gnome police have this thing about butterflies, right? Hi Ford! Okay, so this Smell-ulock guy let me borrow his net if I caught his escaped squirrel, and that took forever but I got the net – I gotta give that back to him at some point – and man Fidds, butterflies are _hard_ to catch!”

Ford settled down at the table with a bowl of soup, letting the chatter wash over him. The rich, savoury scent made his mouth water. Before he realized it he’d already bolted half of it down, mouth and throat burning slightly from the scalding temperature. Fiddleford ‘tsk’ed.

“Didja sleep alright?” The other man asked once Ford paused to take a breath.

“Quite well, thank you. Having the barrier up is a welcome relief.”

“That barrier means the triangle guy can’t mess with our heads anymore, right?” Stan sat down in his chair with a plop, dropping his assorted props on the table. Ford nodded in affirmation.

“Right.”

“So what does unicorn hair have against demons anyway?” Stan asked curiously. Ford swallowed his last spoonful of soup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before speaking.

“It acts as a protective force against evil and those with ill-intent.”

“So, if I went to punch someone but they had a bunch a’ unicorn hair, it would stop me?”

“Erm – not quite. It can help to ward against demons, though.” Stan opened his mouth to ask another question but Ford beat him to it with the answer. “It seems to have a kind of purpose and sentience, to be able to target demons and mind-invaders specifically, but I haven’t been able to study it before now so I haven’t the foggiest idea how or why.”

“But it hurts demons, right? Like Bill!” Stan jumped up on his chair again and flung a punch at some imaginary foe. “Can’t you just use your smarts to make a giant unicorn-hair-laser-gun-missile-launcher thing? And then we’ll blow ‘im right outta the sky!”

Ford snorted at his brother’s exuberance. “If only it were that simple. Unicorn hair isn’t the only ingredient in the barrier spell; there’s moonstone and mercury as well, and anyway, the whole thing merely acts as a shield. It might be able to do some damage to Cipher if I alter the formula and substitute… hmm, foxglove?” Yes, that could theoretically work, especially if he combined spells. “But there’s no way to deliver the final product to him, he’s too slippery. We’d need to manufacture some kind of… gun…”

Ford stopped.

“…actually, that might work.”


	6. Stan(ford) With a Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, it's been a while since I uploaded! I've been having some writer's block recently. Hope this chapter is still good!

Ford thanked his lucky stars that Fiddleford had stuck around. He himself was an expert in all things weird, of course, but Fiddleford was the engineer. He knew metal and circuitry like the back of his hand and was all to eager to use that knowledge to design destructive weapons that should probably have never been made in the first place.

They sat together at the table long after Stan had been put to bed, scribbling on loose paper and tossing ideas back and forth. They would have to demon-proof the weapon itself so Bill couldn’t destroy it pre-emptively. Quick firing time and pinpoint accuracy. After a few uses the magic in the gun would burn itself out and render it useless, so every shot would have to count.

At least Ford had enough materials. What with the excess unicorn hair, cannibalized scraps of the dormant portal and pieces of technology scavenged from Crash Site Omega all stored in the basement, they should be able to build this thing whilst remaining in the safety of the house.

“I’m afraid I’m not exactly a gun man.” Fiddleford admitted as Ford scribbled out several calculations. “I can build the thing, but I haven’t the foggiest idea how to hit somethin’ with it.”

“I can. I’m quite adept with a crossbow, and how different can they be?” Ford reasoned. “The principles remain the same. Aim and shoot.”

“I think it might be a tad more complicated than that, Stanford. Will we be able to make extra rounds for target practice?”

Ford circled the answer to his equation and picked up Fiddleford’s design sketch, frowning as he compared the two. “The weapon won’t be able to fire more than a few times before it overloads. We’ll need every shot.”

“Dang. An’ I don’t have enough parts to make a second gun, so we’ll just have to hope for the – Stanley? Watcha doin’ up this late?”

Fiddleford’s tone softened abruptly and Ford glanced to the doorway, where the child in question was standing nervously. Stan fidgeted, trying to smother a yawn with his fist while his eyes skipped across the occupied kitchen.

“I. Uh. I couldn’t sleep.” He mumbled. “Can I stay out here with you guys for a bit?”

“Sure thing.” Fiddleford smiled kindly at the boy and with some hesitation, Stan returned it. He padded over to the kitchen table, yawning again.

“Watcha guys doing?”

“We’re drawing up plans to get rid of Cipher.” Ford explained. He reached down to scoop Stan into his lap.

And Stan flinched.

It was a tiny motion, just a flicker of fear across his face, but it was _there_. Ford stilled. Stan stared at him with a somewhat guilty expression and shut his mouth with a _snap_.

Ford frowned. “Stan? Are you alright?”

Stan nodded too quickly. “Um, yeah! I just – I had bad dreams again. And, um. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s made you upset.” Ford admonished. Stan was still cringing a little at Ford’s reaching hands so instead he scooted his chair back, leaving ample room for the child to crawl up on his own if he so desired. Stan leapt at the opportunity and climbed up into Ford’s lap, attaching himself to his brother’s front and half hiding under his coat. Ford couldn’t not notice the way Stan burrowed against him, seeking comfort. “…do you want to talk about it?”

There was no reaction from. Fiddleford spoke up from the other side of the table.

“Y’know, I often find that talking about bad dreams makes ‘em seem less real. It might make ya feel better to just have it out.”

Stan mumbled something that had Ford frowning as he tried to understand. “What was that, Stanley?”

“I messed up.” Stan mumbled again, louder. “I was stupid and Pa got real mad. You were mad at me too.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that.” Ford reassured him. “Right now you haven’t done anything severe enough to make me angry.” Fiddleford sent him a sharp look and Ford coughed. “Um. Not that I would get angry, necessarily. It entirely depends on the circumstances. I’m used to a certain level of ‘messing up’, so-” The sharp look turned into a glare. “Not just for you! Everyone makes mistakes, I mean, that’s what I’m used to, so it’s really not such a big deal. Unless you make a very large mistake that hurts people, in which case-”

“What yer brother is _trying_ to say,” Fiddleford interrupted, “Is that he’s not mad atcha.”

Stan sniffled and buried his face in Ford’s coat, his voice coming muffled through the fabric. “Ford, you don’t hate me, right?”

“Of course I don’t hate you!” Ford said, appalled. Sure, he may be furious at his brother’s adult self, but hate? “I don’t think I could ever hate you. Surely you know that?”

Stan shrugged halfheartedly, face still hidden. “But, if I messed stuff up for you or somethin’. Like, really bad. If I was stupid an’ scared and I did something dumb and broke somethin’ real important.”

“…Stan, what did you dream about?” Ford said carefully. Stan stayed stubbornly silent and Ford began to feel a creeping suspicion. “Is this about the science fair?”

Fiddleford made a noise, but Ford was preoccupied with the child in his lap.

“Stan. Look at me.” He grabbed his brother’s shoulders and turned him around to face him, but Stan ducked his head and wriggled against the grip. “Your dreams are memories, aren’t they?”

“S’just a nightmare, okay?” Stan tried to swat Ford’s hands away. “Lemme go already.”

“This is important, Stanley. My science project. Did you break it on purpose?”

“What?”

“Why did you go to the gymnasium in the first place?”

“I-I dunno!”

“It was jealousy, wasn’t it?” Ford demanded.

“Tha’s enough of that!” Fiddleford said loudly, slapping his hand on the table with enough force to make Ford jump. “Stanford, quit with the interrogation and leave ‘im alone. We got bigger problems to deal with.”

Ford sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. If Stan really was experiencing the memories of his older self in the form of dreams, he probably wouldn’t understand most of them. Especially with how scattered they seemed to be. And anyway, there were far more important things to be doing. It didn’t matter now if Stan _meant_ to break his science project or not. It shouldn’t matter.

Mentally kicking himself, Ford placed his brother down on the ground and nodded to a scowling Fiddleford. “You’re right. My apologies. I… wasn’t thinking.”

Stan rubbed his arm, shoulders hunched, and a tiny bit of Ford began to feel bad. Fiddleford spoke up before Ford could say anything more.

“A’right, Stan, yer a growing boy and ya need a good night’s sleep. How about I walk ya to bed and you can tell me about this dream a’ yours?” Fiddleford pushed back his chair and stood, offering Stan a smile. “Where are ya sleeping?”

“My room.” Stan piped up, at the same time Ford answered, “The spare room.”

Stan shot him a confused look. “Waddya mean? I thought that was my room. If it’s the spare, where’s mine?”

“Well, ya don’t have a room here.” Fiddleford tilted his head. “At least, not as far as I’m aware.”

“But… then where do I sleep?”

“At yer house, I suppose.”

Stan turned to stare at Ford. “Wait, I don’t live here? With you?”

Ford frowned. “Of course not. When you first regressed in age I explained this to you.”

“I – I was confused! Hang on, if I don’t live here then where _do_ I live?”

“I don’t _know_ , Stanley.” Ford groaned.

“Why don’t you know?”

“You can’t expect me to know everything about you. We’re adults, Stan, not children anymore!”

Stan glared at Ford. “Well I don’t _wanna_ be an adult if it means I get stupid like you!”

“Stan-”

“We’re supposed to do everything together!” The child shouted, balling his fists. Ford fought to keep his voice even.

“That’s just not _realistic_. Will you stop being _ridiculous_ for once?”

Stan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shot a final glare at Ford before turning on his heel and storming off.

Ford groaned, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. Great. Now he had tantrums to deal with too. Tantrums, on top of Stan’s memories returning in the form of dreams, like the ones he’d described earlier-

About shivering in the snow, and a gun to his head.

No. Nope, not thinking about that. Ford swallowed down his nausea.

When he composed himself enough to look up, he was alone in the kitchen. Fiddleford had probably gone after Stan – to coddle him, most likely, abandoning the crucial task at hand. Ford allowed himself another five seconds of despair before he turned back to his work.

* * *

The problem with being in an unfamiliar house was that Stan didn’t know where to go to sulk.

He ended up shutting himself in the bathroom and climbing into the tub, hugging himself to try and block out the cold, lonely feeling in his chest. It didn’t really work but it was better than nothing, right? Maybe if he curled up really tight and closed his eyes he could pretend he was back at home, playing hide and seek with the Ford he knew.

The Ford that didn’t write about how stupid he was. Stan had thought that maybe Ford was just stressed, that was why he wrote mean things in his diary like ‘even Stan could do it’. When adults were stressed they got mean, right? That was how pa was. He would smack Stan around if he’d had a bad day and Stan was in the firing line, that was just how adults were. So he hadn’t thought much of it! Ford would calm down and apologize eventually. Ford always did.

…but maybe Ford wasn’t just having a bad day. What if he had meant all those things, about how Stan was dumb? What if the furious Ford in Stan’s dream wasn’t just a dream?

…what if his brother didn’t like him anymore?

There was a gentle knocking on the door. Stan sniffed and glared at the bottom of the bathtub.

“What?”

“I’m jus’ checkin’ yer okay.” Came a familiar voice, muffled through the door.

“Oh. Fidds.” Of course Ford hadn’t come after him.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Stan shrugged half-heartedly. There was the click of a handle turning, then the slight man stepped inside. Fiddleford’s footsteps seemed awfully loud as he came over to the bathtub.

“Is there room in there for two?”

Stan nodded. Fiddleford climbed in next to him, sitting cross-legged with his back against the wall of the tub.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Stan shook his head.

“That’s alright. Ya don’t have to say anything.”

They sat there in silence for a few minutes before Stan broke the silence. “I don’t like this Ford! He’s all – stupid. It’s like I don’t even _know_ him anymore.” Stan grabbed at his hair. “Everything’s all different. I just want it to be normal again.”

“Normal?” Fiddleford echoed.

“Normal! Where we’re best friends and he’s not all grown-up and mad at me. Where – where he wants me around.” Stan squeezed his eyes shut, willing them not to well up because he was _not_ a baby. “We were supposed to go everywhere together but I don’t think this Ford even likes me.” A horrible thought hit him and he stared at his hands. “Am… I just not good enough?”

“That’s not it.” Fiddleford placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not like that, Stanley, not at all. Yer brother’s actin’ pretty badly, but that’s on him, not on you.”

“But we’re supposed to be best friends!” Stan sniffed and looked up at the man. “But I just keep messing thing up. I don’t even know what’s going _on_ , Fidds!”

“I know. Sometimes…” Fiddleford sighed. “All I’m saying is, this whole problem? It’s not on you. And once we deal with this demon fella and yer brother’s less stressed, we can sit down and have it all out. Everythin’ will work out alright, ya hear?”

“…I guess.” Stan pasted on a little smile. Because sure, Fidds could think whatever he wants, but it wouldn’t change the fact that for some reason Stan wasn’t a good enough brother. He must not be, if Ford was angry and wanted to leave him. So – maybe if he was better, everything would be okay! It had to be okay, right? Stan would just – be more how he was supposed to be. Pa was always telling him to be more like Ford, but he wasn’t smart, so maybe he could be useful instead. Then Ford wouldn’t want to leave him anymore and things could be like they used to be.


End file.
